


Ride Or Die

by Golden-Havoc (Hanahaki_Blood)



Category: Carnage (Comics), Venom (Comics)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Mild Blood, Oral Sex, Other, PWP, Riding, Rough Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23068840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hanahaki_Blood/pseuds/Golden-Havoc
Summary: Should there truly be some kind of omnipotence looming in the sky, she must be busy laughing her ass off at the irony, considering that omnipotences do, in fact, have an ass or the desire to laugh. He hasn‘t thought too much about how a God’s butt looks like, nor does he particularly care about shoving himself into it if he could, producing a hybrid, the antichrist or worse. However, soon he tries to imagine a deity‘s appearance his biased cock hardens over the image of his Other‘s supple bottom high in the air, ready to be led back into her warm, wet hole. He can’t really blame Cletus Jr. though. Who doesn‘t ache to come home?
Relationships: Carnage Symbiote/Cletus Kasady
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Ride Or Die

"Are you sure?“ Red asks, head tilted, concern rare as a lunar eclipse displayed on her rigid face.

The air wavers thickly in the narrow dark of the room. Outside, a street lamp oozes its glow through the window, painting a streak of dirt-caked orange onto her smooth body, partly illuminating the moulded roundings and muscles protruding from her ever-shifting mass. Her form has turned and twisted to his likes so often by now that each variation holds its own charm and kink if so desired, but Cletus can’t remember a version of her that he didn’t want to fuck right there on the spot.

So it probably doesn’t matter as much as it usually should. No wonder. Nothing about this has ever been the usual either way. And he is glad about it.

The rules – or more precisely, whatever preferences he might have loosely figured out when he‘d been none but a teenager rutting into the mattress in all his horny, pimpled glory, his muffled stutter echoing off vacant walls as he came – don‘t apply to her. Despite, or maybe because of this, she is all he ever craved.

Should there truly be some kind of omnipotence looming in the sky, she must be busy laughing her ass off at the irony, considering that omnipotences do, in fact, have an ass or the desire to laugh. He hasn‘t thought too much about how a God’s butt looks like, nor does he particularly care about shoving himself into it if he could, producing a hybrid, the antichrist or worse. However, soon he tries to imagine a deity‘s appearance his biased cock hardens over the image of his Other‘s supple bottom high in the air, ready to be led back into her warm, wet hole. He can’t really blame Cletus Jr. though. Who doesn‘t ache to come home?

This time, she sits splayed on crumbled sheets, knees drawn to her chest, but not close enough to hinder his view on her breasts. She knows he likes them big and bouncing when he pounds into her so she’s learned to keep them this way, plump and firm, begging to be squeezed, played with and sucked on. The nipples are a fairly new addition, taut nubs of slightly darker shade standing out proudly from the makeshift flesh. He licks his lips at the sight and almost laughs when she averts his gaze in the mediocre replica of bashfulness upon catching it. Too many soap operas in this regard. She still doesn‘t understand the appeal of teats nor the concept of tits as a whole, but she‘s eager to please by default. The landscape of her fantasies is much broader than he could gather in a lifetime or five. Cletus is sure he couldn’t get used to a hooker again if he tried.

He looks her over, throat dry with desire while he stands in front of the bed and palms his cock with languid strokes.

„Look at me,“ he says, answering her question without meaning to. The sickles of her eyes shine like starfire in the half-dark of the room as they turn back at him, watching him pleasure himself with rather clinical interest. He knows about her selfish demand to be the only one able to get him off thus masturbation is a self-explained no-go, but for what he plans to do taking a little care of himself first is a required measure.

She doesn’t breathe – sometimes, she simulates it to appear more human, but more often than not she just forgets. It‘s not what her kind needs, and never will. Instead, she poses a creature feral and vibrant with life yet faultless like they’ve carved her from marble dipped in blood. It’s a curious thing to take in. Despite the fact that her body reflects the luscious characteristics of a woman she remains, lack for a better word, alien to the human eye. That’s just one of the things he loves about her added by the fact that all her estranged, vicious nature belongs to him. He wouldn't share such wild beauty for all cunts in the world.

Speaking of.

“Did you make it as I told you?“ His voice rolls like gravel into the shadows, burdened with poorly-hid excitement. It mixes in with his need and the way her gaze stays on his erection like wax, all-consuming hunger emanating from her like thick vapor. She eats him with her eyes. He could cum from that alone.

Eventually, she huffs and parts her legs in simple, crude invitation. Between them, the plane of her mass sheds a slit that forces a gaping hole be brought to existence. A vagina, most strangely, yet close enough to the original to be called as such. Eyes locked on her makeshift folds, he makes out drops of liquid already pouring out of the flesh, signalling her impatience. There are times in their relationship when Cletus realizes she will never _not_ be hungry. It’s fine with him als long as she doesn’t lose her appetit for killing. With him. Without him. Just to keep in motion. Be alive, and wanting to.

„I‘m not stupid,“ she says a little uppish as he steps closer. „I’ve studied the anatomy book you gave me.“

He doesn‘t contradict her by mentioning anything about the teeth or the lavish tongue he knows to be waiting behind these lips. Some things are uniquely her, and he‘d be a fool to forbid her comfort in what she is. Besides, these additions aren’t exactly what he’d call _disadvantages_ in the bedroom.

„Lean back,“ he says gruffly instead. She does, sinking into the myriad of pillows, giving her a slight tilt to rest her back on and an elegant arch to praise her impeccable upper body.

He follows her like a brick tied to his ankle to have him sink underwater more quickly, kisses her the minute the breath in his lungs would draw to an end. She enjoys kissing, strangely so; the drag and warmth of his mouth against hers, the chase of tongues when there really is no question about who will be caught in the end, and he’ll let her. She might as well try to finish business and eat him up whole – and he’d let her. His hands cup her breasts, thumbs rubbing over her budding nipples come awake. Her mass is hot, a little more of temperature than what humans caught in a fever rush might produce. He revels in the feeling of his skin being on fire without having to face the burn just as he can survive having his body torn in two and painlessly watch new rear and legs grow out of the ether, perfect shape and muscle fibre and joints working. She makes the image of immortality so easy to picture while everyone around them dies. His lips wind a path down her edged chin, oveer her throat to pepper pecks across a pulse she doesn’t have. Further down, he continues to tease one erect nipple with his thumb while circling the other with the tip of his tongue before he sucks on it in earnest. Her head tilts back with a purr, pushing forward eagerly, but ever. so. impatient. This is good, but it’s not what has been lingering in her host’s mind for hours on end. Sifting through his memories while he slept, all she could gather about the effects the new addition between her legs may cause had derived from porn magazines, porn on the internet, women that wouldn’t look him in the face while – but this is of no importance when he buries it between her thighs next, moving the red and black with his thumbs to marvel at the pink pearl sweetly bedded in a thicket of teeth. Carefully bringing the canines apart as well, he laps at the little bundle of nerves and grins at her immediate jolt of pleasure, guarded by a wondrous moan protruding deep from her throat. The tongue darts out in curiosity, its tip tickling the outline of his jaw, reassuring. Tasting his desire.

He does it again, this time pressing his lips forward to engulf her clit completely and suck in earnest. She snarls beneath him, teeth closing in feebly trying to cover her most vulnerable spot by instinct. They hack into the soft flesh of his palms, but their sting is gentle in comparison to the raw sounds he draws in answer. He wallows in it for what could be years if life had been kinder to him, then releases her with a trail of sloppy kisses leading south her dripping slit.

His tongue pushes into her hot, rosy cunt smooth as a dagger into a long gaping wound. She‘s headier there, more solid in texture, the coppery notion of blood and flesh and arousal blending to a salt-sweet amalgam redefining her essence.

„More,“ Her voice is as breathy as it gets, shudders all over, her body a quaking mess. He retracts agonizingly slow and lifts his head to be met with eyes drawn to pale slits and a face only a demon could love. Little tendrils have broken out of her form, a clear sign she’s begun to lose her composure in truth. They reach in the air as if ready to grab, hold, tear apart, like the feelers of an insect. Opening her mouth again, showing her long, sharp teeth, she accentuates each letter, her stare burning holes into his brain and loins. „More.“ He chuckles, spit running down his chin.

„Are you sure?“ Some of the tendrils shape to claws and move beneath them to run along his ribs. Where the contact hits closest, they scratch the skin ever so slightly. It tickles. In these moments, he is all too sure she _would_ rip him to pieces should he not give what he’s held out to her, and he wouldn’t blamer her. He obeys, then. Can’t drop out before the actual fun beings.

„Yes, ma’am.“

Without warning, he shoves three fingers inside her at once, and she nearly collapses at being filled so promptly. With the other hand securing her writhing thigh, his fingers fuck into her at an erratic, merciless pace while his mouth returns to pay attention to her clit. It‘s wet and tight, like she‘s clinging onto him for dear life there, killing him on the spot if he’d dare to let go. He feels the tongue lap his pads in an attempt to guide them, but he shoves past them and ever deeper, hotter, till he brushes against a spot even he didn’t dare believe to work so well, but it does. And does. And does.

It doesn‘t take long till her walls clamp around him and a tremble catches each cell of her body. She cums hard, followed by a high-pitched cry and an exquisite shudder that seems to last endlessly. He fucks her through her high and beyond, not pausing his hand nor his mouth, milking each ounce of her orgasm till there‘s nothing left. Only when she twitches and struggles to get away from his slathering tongue, overwhelmed, he plants a last smack on her pussy and nuzzles the inside of her thigh instead, content to press his cheek to the warm, pulsing mass, his weeping cock ruining the sheets.

No sweat covers her telling him of her exhaustion, but the way she shudders at the contact, both anxious and raw with bliss, gives her away.

„Ready for round 2?“ he says, his throat only a little hoarse to give him away.

Something akin to tears form in the corners of her eyes. She nods lazily. Eagerly. She could never have denied him anything. Neither could he.

Grinning, he dives back in.

* * *

Seconds fade to minutes, minutes leap to hours, and when the dark silver of morning comes, she still pushes his face down on her like she‘d die right in these sheets if he‘d choose to stop. By the way her small sobs echo in the room, he won‘t take chances. He has lost the meaning of time long ago and so have the limits of pain. It doesn‘t matter if his jaw aches like it could dislocate at any moment nor the strain in his legs for having knelt between hers for so long, the place he wouldn‘t have swapped for an emperor’s throne. Her sounds have become the only music worth to memorize. So has her taste which he couldn‘t put in words if he tried. Like morning dew glistening on a leaf, he lazily laps up what she offers still, the never-ending well, eyes heavy-lidded so that the tremble of her body reminds him of a quivering red sea.

She‘s been begging for his cock for a good while now, cumming and crying and cumming anew, cockless. His fingers are thick, but not thick enough, his tongue hot yet unable to deliver a different kind of burn, of stretch, of _becoming one_. Not the Carnage way – the more _primal_ variant.

Her essence rules all his senses, frees him off reality and the boundaries it sets, and a past that’s too sad, too unworthy of his present self to remember. Without her, this motel room would be a cell, this mattress an unforgiving floor to scrape his knees over while being on his fours and fucked all the same by some hulk from behind, staining the ground with his blood as it does these once cream-white sheets.

She shoves him from her with a snarl as the image catches up to her, part possessive, part ferocious, part horrified in earnest. Maybe she found the face of her father’s host hovering above. He, for one, couldn’t tell.

Before he can utter a word, she’s on him, straddling his lap, her claws sifting through the dried remnants of semen painting his underbelly and the coarse, red hair of his crotch. Jealousy. His cock curls fat and full in the stark arch of his hipbone, precum oozing from the tip. It almost hurts to look at it.

She does not wait for permission before lining up his length and pushing it all the way inside her, followed by a low sigh rumbling far across the room. For one moment she stills, settling herself in the feeling. He does too, trying his best not to burst from the contact alone and feeling oddly boyish while it. She’s tight and hot around him, almost boiling, and so unbearably slick from his attentions he fears he’ll slip out of her in one rush if she moves an inch too far. Then, she rolls her hips, a mewl of relief escaping her as she starts to bounce on his cock like mad and lose herself in a frantic rhythm. The slap of flesh resounds obnoxiously loud in the room, mingled with her sweet, guttural cries and Cletus‘ attempt to focus on breathing. His shaking hands clutch her hips to steady her, but she growls and sheds them like scales before plunging back down.

He watches in awe how she uses him as a toy to fuck herself senseless, devoid of pleasing anyone but herself. He doesn’t have the strength to push her off nor would he want any offered to halt her rampage.

He reaches up, grabbing for anything, finding her ample breasts and the nipples still hard as metal to which she doesn‘t object. His thumbs swirl over them to which she doesn‘t object either if her upping the pace means anything.

She grounds so hard into him by now he‘s certain there‘ll be a shower of bruises to litter his skin for days if he tells her not to remove them on the spot. He can’t wait to connect the colors and guess the shape coming out of them.

„That‘s right, baby, take it. It‘s all for you.“ His own hips buck upward, rewarded by this inhumanly tight clutch that takes his breath away. „Fuck, that’s good, you‘re so good, baby, so good –“

And as she triples her efforts to gain more of his howl-clasped praise, her cunt greedily sucking hi **m** back in everytime his cock leaves her heat one inch, the enticingly terrible thought occurs to him that even if he handled her roughly should he choose so, she wouldn‘t leave him as others would have, would neither show fear nor disgust or respondent aggression. Even if he’d have taken a searing-hot knife and tear the skin (her gift for him to ruin) with flicks of fire while he fucked her raw from behind, she’d have ached for it, vaunted him during any kind of agony recognized as such. Wouldn’t realize it to be a violation but confuse it for his expression of love all the same since violence was what they did, what gave the rush of adrenaline teetering through his veins, feeding her like she fed on cattle and poultry and human flesh.

The thought plants a seed of true horror into his brain before his vision goes white and his semen spurts into her in thick, hot ropes, hips rocking upward the heights of collapse. She moans in triumph, squeezing him so hard it borders on brutality to make sure she catches every last drop. The freedom of a ragdoll, unknown to both who’s pulling the strings anymore and who snaps them off.

Gathering the last remnants of energy he sits up shaking and wraps his arms around her waist while he kisses her, a slur of words caught in a crush of lips, one pair scarred from space, the other half-formed, both wet and burning as they ride out the mind-numbing aftermath of their climax together. Later, he will deny to have said anything beyond encouragement and Red will pretend to believe him although both know better than to shy away from the truth.

They’re each other’s ride or die after all.


End file.
